


Wintercearig

by idle_writer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Other, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idle_writer/pseuds/idle_writer
Summary: WintercearigDefinition: Literally “winter sorrow”, “winter sadness”; a feeling of a deep sadness, usually comparable to the cold, still, dark heart of full winter. (Sometimes described as the product of the cold, dark heart of winter, instead of a sorrow similar to the feeling.)//bucky barnes x reader //
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt with the soulmate trope, and my first fanfic for mcu. I hope you like it ! Unbeta'd.

Once, you lived in a world where there are rainbows and butterflies, and soulmates exists. Where there’s a certain someone who is destined to be with you, marked with the first words you utter them, placed on their left inner wrist near the pulse point. _Left because our hearts are tilted slightly to the left. Pulse because you and your soulmate’s hearts beat as one._ At least that’s what your mother have told you.

  
They said there is no bond stronger than one of soulmates. That when you find yours, you should never let them go.

  
You thought back then how stupid can someone be to let go of their soulmate. Until now. Now that you’re thrown into this world. You’re not that naïve child anymore, and no way, you’ll want your soulmate whoever they are to see this ugly shit you’re calling your world now – a world of genius minds, secret assassins, super soldiers. You are no secret assassin nor a super soldier. You know your ways around with tech, but do you consider yourself a genius? _Barely_ , you thought, for there’s so much to learn, so much to explore. Until of course suddenly you get confined behind four walls. You still get to learn. Your captors supplement you with food not only for your stomach but for your mind. You just nod and do whatever they tell you to do. Read, learn, understand whatever manual or book they send your way. You do not speak, afraid to catch anyone’s attention.

You stare blankly at the floor, ignoring the buzz of the people in white coats as they shuffle around the room, preparing for his arrival. This is a first, you thought. Usually when you are fetched to fix his arm, or rather _his metal arm_ , he is already seated perfectly still on the chair, his eyes closed. You will silently work on his arm - adjusting, replacing plates, a bit of soldering when needed - just like how it’s written on the handbook they told you to read. And when you’re done, you will stand up from your chair as he opens his eyes. The bluest ~~and most beautiful~~ eyes you’ve ever seen. How can someone something be empty yet beautiful at the same time. He will give you a subtle nod, barely noticeable, and you will give back one in return, before exiting the room with no words exchanged between the two of you.

The loud clink of the metal door opening made you jump. His domineering presence can be felt in the room, and yet you find the floor interesting at the moment, not quite ready to look at the Soldier.

  
Black muddied boots stop in your line of vision, and when you look up you saw. The lower part of his face is obscured by a mask but _his eyes_ , despite the black camo paint smeared onto his face, his are still the most beautiful blue eyes you’ve ever seen. You almost gasp. The emptiness you always see seems to have faded. It’s there but there’s something else as if there’s small flicker of life behind them - like a storm brewing, waiting to be unleashed.

  
You lose track on how long you are staring until someone cleared their throat and forced you to look away. The soldier didn’t bulge and despite all your best efforts not to mind, you do, because you can still feel his smoldering eyes on you. Your throat feels tight as you feel his gaze on you. You swallow thickly as you quickly steal a glimpse, just in time to see him watch the lump in your throat before he retrained his eyes to yours.

  
A particular rough push made him bulge a little, making him take a half step forward to you. That’s when the asset tore his eyes away from you, sending a glare at the now scared guard, shaking, as he point a stun cane dangerously close towards you and the asset’s direction. You are surprised when the asset shifts to place himself between you and the guard, effectively shielding you away from what he conceives is threat. You cannot see, but you know his murderous glare has never left his face.

The room is thick with tension, the silence deafening. From the corner of your eye, you see a doctor press a what you assume is an emergency button. You felt the ground vibrate, and you start to hear the rushed stomping of feet getting louder and closer, more guards are coming. Thoughts of him getting hurt fills your mind and brings a throbbing pain at your chest. Unconsciously, you reached for his back, grasping at the material of his vest. You try to pull him back, silently pleading for him to back down.

When the other guards come storming into the room, they only find the Winter Soldier seated on the chair, you working on his arm, and the people with white coats making sense of what just happened.

* * *

  
Sometimes you dream of someone. A faceless being with a strangely comforting presence. Your left wrist is warmed with the words only they can give. You squint hard trying to decipher what was written —

  
“Wake up! Goddamnit, wake up!”

  
The booming voice and clanking on the door wakes you up. You immediately stand, the sudden movement making your head spin and thrum painfully. You barely put on your slip-ons when the guard grasps your upper arm as he leads you out. You can hear anguished screams as you near the room.

  
“Kill me. Just kill me now.”

“I don’t want to…”

“I won’t be your Winter Sol–”

  
The guard unceremoniously shoves you inside the room, making you stumble forward. Multiple soldiers has their guns aimed at the asset, or the former asset. He is strapped to a chair. His left arm disabled. His eyes which are usually void of emotion is now brimmed with tears. A nuzzle is at his mouth.

  
A man in a military uniform approaches you. “You read the handbook, yes? Say the words. We need The Soldier.”

  
You stare at him and back to the asset whose eyes widen and began to shake his head “no”.

  
“Alright, we can play this game,” the man says as he pulls out a gun and points it at you. “Say the words or he dies.”

  
The asset looks at you, resigning himself to death. He will rather die than become the Soldier. _Die._ The throbbing pain in your chest comes back stronger than ever, knees buckling as the pain spreads through you. Your left hand flies to your chest as you try to will the pain away from the source. You try to look at the soldier’s eyes, try to tell him you are sorry, that you can’t do what’s he’s asking you to. And for some reason he seems to understand and his eyes mirror the a pained look that matches yours. He closes his eyes, and tries to fight off what is coming. The cloth of your shirt rumpling with how tightly you clutch your chest and with trembling voice, muttered the words you remember reading.

  
_“Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car.”_

  
When the asset opened his blue eyes, you shivered. There’s an emptiness to them that leaves you cold, and your heart breaks knowing that you put this on him. You made this happen.

  
You hiss at the sudden searing hot pain in your hand. Tears now escaping freely from your eyes, as you stare with horror at the fresh words now etched in your left inner wrist,

_**“Ready to comply.”** _


	2. Chapter 2

**_“Ready to Comply.”_ **

You stare at the words written on your left wrist. The words that signify the bond you have. You can only smile bitterly as you trace the words etched in to your skin. 

You’ve waited your whole life to find them. The one. You imagine all sorts of scenarios and clichés on how you’ll meet them. Don’t all good soulmate stories start from clichés? You imagine meeting them in a café. Maybe you’ll do something cute like accidentally take their order, or something embarrassing like accidentally spilling their drinks on them. You imagine yours and your soulmate’s eyes widen, sparkled with joy and full of life, a hearty laughter coming from your chests as you both realize you’re destined for each other. 

But of course, life is not rainbows and butterflies. You imagine one thing and is given another. In your case, you are given a far cry from what you imagined. 

The door to your cell opens. You quickly scramble to your feet, almost stumbling as you reach for your lab coat, pulling on its long sleeves to hide the words etched on your skin. Knowing how HYDRA works, you know that if they found out, they will use it against the both of you, and you refuse to cause him, more than yourself, any more pain. 

You are escorted to a familiar room. Your heart is beating fast. A strange mix of dread and anticipation knowing who you will see on the other side of the door. 

He is seated on his usual chair. Exhaustion is written on his face. His gaze seems faraway but a storm is brewing underneath his blues. His brows are furrowed. His mind so deep in thought it’s like you can hear its gears spin and turn. The handler asks him a question, one he answers with another question. 

“The man on the bridge. Who is he?” 

His voice comes out raspy, but no less beautiful on your ears. 

His gaze turns to you, a flicker of recognition evident on his eyes, and for a moment, you feel invisible strings tug painfully in your heart. Does he recognize you? Does he remember what you did? _Does he know what you are to each other?_

Their voices drone out off your ears as thoughts come rushing through your mind. 

The harsh sound of a slap followed by a command pulls you away from your thoughts. 

“Wipe him.” 

You look up to see the asset, his cheek reddening but he remains motionless, unresponsive. You’ve never seen it before but you’ve read about it. About how in his early days, he would resist and fight them off, and so they decided to wipe him off his memories, making him an empty shell of his former self. If the trigger words are a fail safe, the wiping is an reinforcement. 

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Sir, he’s been out in cryo for so long, I’d advise-” 

The handler sends you with a dismissive stare, effectively cutting you off. He turns to other men before leaving. “Wipe him.” 

You can only watch as they strap him on metal clasps, his fists in tightened balls. You notice his breathing pick up as yours almost stop to a halt. He spares you one last glance before he closes his eyes and when he opens them again, he reverts back to being the hard, cold, defensive shell of the Soldier. He prepares himself for what’s to come. But nothing could have prepared you for the sound of electricity zapping and his anguished screams. You know they will haunt you forever. 

* * *

The men slowly leaves one by one. With shaky legs, you cautiously walk towards the asset, his eyes still close. Exhaustion is written on his face, and now that you’re in close proximity, you can clearly see the dark bags under his eyes, the light sheen of sweat on his skin, making his brown locks stick to his skin, beautifully framing his face. With a cloth you keep in your pocket, you pat the sweat dry from his face, wishing to give him a small gesture of comfort. 

“What are you doing?” 

You jump back at the voice. A guard you haven’t noticed is still in the room suspiciously narrows his eyes at you. You are frozen in place as the guard makes a step forward, but stopped on his third, awkwardly clearing his throat, a flash of fear on his face as he steps out of the room. “I’ll be outside. Don’t do anything stupid.” 

Sighing in relief you look back to the asset, you swear you saw him glare intently at the door but it was gone before you can process it. His gaze is back to somewhere faraway, his lips pursed in a tight line. And even though you are a mere inches away from each other, you can’t help but feel you are miles apart. 

The whole time you are working on his arm, you fight back the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. His old scars still angry and red but new scars mars his skin. The helplessness, the inability to protect him, or at least spare him from pain is getting to you. 

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” your voice cracking, throat feeling incredibly tight. Your voice pulls him out of his trance, blinking once before focusing his eyes on you. 

Not quite ready to return his stare, you look down at where your thumb is gently running over the metal plates on his left wrist, void of your words, just as you expected. Relief washing over you. Relief that if ever, he makes out of this shit hole, and you hope to god he does, he hasn’t have to live with such words written on his skin. 

_“Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car.”_

You quickly shut your eyes, wanting to stop the familiar sting of incoming tears, feeling like an idiot because how can you cry when he is here, the one who was bound and tortured just a few minutes ago? 

Your eyes flutter open when you feel the feeling of rough fingertips touching your skin. His steel eyes are still empty and cold – the complete opposite of the warmth you feel radiating from his fingertips. The simple touch spreading a wildfire to your heart. 

He doesn’t understand why but it is as if it’s instinct – in his nature – to brush away the tears you haven’t noticed has fallen from your eyes. He doesn’t understand why but he hates it when he sees you cry. 

With selfish thoughts, you think of crying more often if means you will feel his skin on yours every time. 

With selfish thoughts, you press the palm of his right hand flat to your cheeks, leaning more to his touch as you savor in his warmth. 

But without selfish thoughts, you whisper an apology. For the things you did. The things you will do, but most importantly for the things you can't do. 

And he lets you. Lets you say your countless apologies simply because he finds solace in your voice. Lets you nuzzle your cheek in his hand because he simply finds warmth in your touch. He lets you revel in what he thinks small comfort he can give while he revels in yours because who knows when it’ll be the last, especially when unbeknownst to you, he has caught a glimpse of the words written on your left wrist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially wrote this wanting to make something fluffy but got sidetracked and it got progressively sadder. I think I will end this on the third chapter. Don’t wanna prolong the agony (even though I love angst so much). As always, thank you for reading! Take care :)


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